


Live to Tell

by jnic84



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8680777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jnic84/pseuds/jnic84
Summary: Title: Live to TellPairing: Negan x Reader	Summary: You were tasked with scouting out the Sanctuary, but soon your mission starts to spiral out of control.





	1. One

One:

 

The roar of the trucks alerted everyone in Alexandria to the Saviors’ arrival. You watched the gates nervously, a shadow dropping over you as Michonne joined you on your left. 

“You remember the plan?” she asked softly, making sure not to attract anyone’s attention. “You know what to do?”

Stowaway in Negan’s convoy, get into their compound, try to assess their numbers, and if you were lucky get eyes on Daryl.

“Yes,” you whispered, hoping you were able to disguise the hitch in your breath. It was practically a suicide mission, but you knew it had to be done. If your group had any hope of someday living free of Negan’s rule, someone needed to find out more about them. You had volunteered to be the sacrificial lamb.

Michonne glanced at Rick who was hovering by the gate, preparing to let Negan and his men inside. There was obvious worry on her face. Rick was a broken man, worse than anything you had seen before. You all were a little bit broken after the loss of Glenn and Abraham. But Rick had always been your fearless leader. Now he wasn’t leading anymore, he was giving in. And while Michonne understood, that didn’t mean she agreed.

So you kept the plan between just the two of you, even though it pained you both to lie to Rick. Michonne loved him, even if you hadn’t heard her say the words; he was the closest thing you had to a brother. But if it meant protecting him, you’d take this secret to the grave.

If things went south, the grave is where you’d be headed.

Rick gave the signal for Eugene to open the gates and you felt Michonne give your arm a comforting squeeze. “Get lost,” she ordered, “and don’t let him see you.”

Jerking your head in a nod, you turned on your heel, doing your best to blend in with the onlookers who had begun to gather as Negan’s trucks began to pull into Alexandria.

You’d never seen the man up close, only from a distance as you sheltered in your home the last time he came calling. Even among the crowd of men now pouring into the gates, he cut an imposing figure. The way he swaggered up to Rick, swinging that damn bat as he whistled a jaunty tune, there was no doubt he was in charge. 

Michonne moved to join Rick and that sent you into motion.

“What are you waiting for?” an impatient Negan shouted at his men as they stood around. “I want their shit!” The Saviors didn’t linger, moving into action swiftly. 

Finding a decent spot to hide for the moment, you allowed yourself to watch Rick and Negan interact. 

Rick, who had once been sure and unshakable, was nearly unrecognizable in Negan’s presence. His head was bowed, his eyes only making the barest of contact. He looked like a wounded animal.

Not for the first time you wondered what had really happened that night. You knew the basics: Negan’s threats, Abraham’s death, Daryl’s outburst, and Glenn’s punishment. But as horrific as that all was, this wasn’t the first time your group had faced the deaths of their own. 

But this was different, you supposed. This wasn’t walkers. This wasn’t just a bad day and bad luck. This was a man who killed your friends, and seemed to thoroughly enjoy it.

You saw Negan with an amused grin clap Rick on the back. “Man, you look like shit!” He crowed, snorting in laughter. “Have you been sleeping well? I mean, I have. Your mattress is comfy as hell. Felt like I was sleeping on a fucking cloud.”

The Saviors had taken every bed in Alexandria on their last visit. They didn’t need them, they were just being assholes. You and Michonne had even found a few discarded mattresses while you had been out hunting. They were too torn up, whether by brush or a Savior’s knife, to save.

Unwilling to listen to his smug taunts, you took a look around and worked your way towards the wall.

You took a longer route back to where their trucks were waiting, trying your best to stay out of sight. There were a good number of men constantly coming and going, loading up the trucks with whatever your group had managed to scavenge that week. Minutes went by and the commotion began to slow, as did the flow of goods. 

A handful of trucks were filled to the brim, a couple were fully loaded, but had enough room that you might be able to squeeze through. Making sure the coast was clear, you hustled as quietly as you could toward the truck, climbing over a few boxes and winding your way to the back. Crouching down low, you curled in on yourself, hoping that no one would notice you.

Minutes felt like hours, and then all you could hear was noise. Men were returning to their vehicles, and your stomach clenched when you heard the low rumble of Negan’s laughter as he neared. Your hands were fists, fearing he would find you. But then the door of the truck was pulled closed and you were left in utter darkness.

The engine started up moments after and you were jolted slightly when the truck began to move. There was no going back now.

You had never been particularly religious. Even after the dead began to rise you never found yourself turning to God. But you found yourself making the sign of the cross as you were driven away from your home.

If you were going to spy on Negan and his Saviors, maybe even find a way to rescue Daryl, you would need all the help you could get.


	2. Chapter Two

Two:

 

Your heart skipped a beat when the truck finally came to a stop. There was a cacophony of sound all around you. Doors being opened and slammed shut, people talking and laughing, the sound of a gate closing with a crash. 

The door to the back of the truck you were crouched in was unlocked and allowed to roll open. Your muscles tensed, dreading the moment somebody might spot you, but someone simply grabbed a box and walked away. You waited one long moment, then another, before risking a move. Slowly, you slunk around the cargo before peeking out of the bed.

There were vehicles and people as far as the eye could see. The saviors, both the men who raided Alexandria, and those from inside the compound, were gathering over their spoils. 

Cautiously you slipped out of the back, noticing a stack of lumber and debris a few feet away. Keeping your head down, you walked with purpose until you could secret yourself behind the woodpile. Michonne had told you once that confidence was the key to everything. Keep your mouth shut, your eyes peeled, and act like you belong there. 

It took awhile but the crowd eventually thinned out. 

You had only spotted Negan once, briefly chatting with Simon before disappearing into the Sanctuary.

Speaking of, the Sanctuary felt anything but friendly. Where Alexandria greeted you with manicured gardens and inviting homes, the Sanctuary towered over you, leaving you with the feeling of looming dread.

You supposed to people who hadn’t managed to eek out an almost normal life, it must have appeared as a refuge. The high walls, sturdy gates, and the protection of the factory provided a sense of security that was hard to find these days.

It reminded you of the prison. The walls kept the walkers out, but Negan and his men kept everyone else inside, whether they liked it or not.

When enough of the saviors had cleared out, you moved swiftly, slipping in between a couple of out buildings as you surveyed the area. 

A group of maybe fifteen people were being corralled into a courtyard, towards a makeshift stage. You could make out some of the words the saviors were barking and were able to put a few pieces of the puzzle together. The saviors had found another group of survivors. As the man himself strolled onto the stage, Lucille swinging playfully in his hand, you grimaced. Hopefully their welcome was less bloody than your group’s had been.

“Hey!” An annoyed grunt caught you off guard and you found yourself pinned to the spot by Dwight’s angry glare. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he grabbed you by the arm, giving you no time to formulate an answer as he dragged you toward the anxious group now kneeling in front of Negan. 

Instinct told you to fight, and you struggled in his grasp. It was only when you realized you were beginning to cause a scene that you stopped.

“You don’t want to wander off, sweetheart,” Dwight sneered, pushing you onto your knees. “The big man’s about to talk.”

He must have thought you were with the newcomers. No one in the group said a word otherwise, too wrapped up in their own fear.

You forced yourself to stay silent, biting your tongue. No matter how much you wanted to see Dwight’s head on a pike, it wouldn’t be wise to make trouble. You reluctantly turned your attention to the stage, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you noticed Negan’s eyes trained on you. The intensity of his gaze was overwhelming, but the wide, almost gleeful smile on his face is what had you unsettled. 

Whatever he was thinking, it wasn’t good.

“Welcome to your new home, you lucky sons of bitches,” Negan crowed, and you felt the man beside you begin to shake. “In case you any of you are in the dark as to who the fuck I am, I’m Negan. And this is the Sanctuary,” his open arms welcomed you to the drab gray of the warehouse and the daunting walls that surrounded you.

“The way I hear it,” he continued, walking slowly and taking up the stage like a true entertainer, “you were all in some deep shit when my boys found you. Pinned down by a bunch of fucking walkers with nary a goddamn weapon in sight.” He shook his head disdainfully. 

“Honestly, I’d be tempted to leave you to it. If you’re stupid enough to be unarmed in the fucking apocalypse, maybe you deserve to be walker food. But Simon, he saw potential in you,” he smirked and you saw Simon standing proudly off to the side from the corner of your eye. 

“And damn it if he wasn’t right. Because once my men saved your asses, you graciously led them to your camp. Not a bad set up, downright cozy if you will. And fucking filled with food. I mean, I’ll be damned. I did not expect such a haul from you sorry shits.”

The man to your left let out a quivering breath, hopeful that Negan’s amusement might mean a reprieve.

“You’re obviously no good to me as fighters,” he scoffed, snorting a laugh. “But apparently you’re fucking great scavengers. So here’s how this is gonna go. You work for me. You get two choices: you go out and find some useful shit and bring it to me, or you work here at the Sanctuary for points. Points buy you food, and clothes, and all that kind of shit.”

Negan paused, cocking his head to the side and chuckling. “Now, I’m not going to lie, it’s going to suck. You’re gonna hate it, but that’s life. The Sanctuary don’t run on a wish and a prayer. So make your choice and make it fast. Try to fight, and Dwight will stick you out with the fucking walkers to use as target practice. Ain’t that right, D?”

Dwight gave a half smile, the scars on his face making the gesture looking more sinister. 

You could hear a muffled sob come from one of the women in front of you, but you could offer no words of comfort. Instead you bowed your head, unable to stand looking at Negan’s smug expression.

“Now Joey here is gonna give you the grand tour,” he said, gesturing to a large man in flannel a few feet behind the crowd. “You better get comfortable real quick, ‘cause you’re not leaving. This is home sweet home,” he gave a shit-eating grin. 

You were jostled slightly as a few of the saviors took it upon themselves to get people moving. You pushed up from the ground, dusting off your jeans before looking up. You felt lost and very out of sorts, but you supposed the best you could do was follow the group. Taking two steps forward, your movements were halted when Lucille appeared in front of you and blocked your path.

Following the line of the barbed wire covered bat to its handle, then to the man who gripped it tightly, you met Negan’s delighted gaze warily. “You weren’t trying to sneak outta here earlier now, were you? I wouldn’t want you to leave the party early,” his voice was almost teasing, but you knew to be guarded. 

“I—there’s a lot to take in, I got distracted,” you replied lamely, but Negan didn’t seem to be bothered by your flimsy excuse.

“I get it,” he nodded solemnly, “I’ve been told I can be very distracting.”

“I—I should catch up,” you tried to get back on point, glancing at the now retreating backs of the group that would be your best shot at protection and anonymity.

“You should stay right here, doll,” Negan tsked, lowering Lucille and twirling her casually at his side. “There’s something we need to talk about.” His voice was low and gravely, which somehow managed to be inviting and intimidating at the same time.

Did he know? Your heart raced. Did he know you weren’t one of them. Had he caught a glimpse of you back in Alexandria? You had been so careful not to be seen.

“Now, I said you had two options: work for me, or work for points,” he drawled, and you hoped he didn’t notice the relief in your eyes. “And for the rest of those shits, that’s true. But you…you, darling, have a third option.”

“A third option?” you repeated, confused. Rick and the group in Alexandria, they worked for Negan. The people in this warehouse, they obviously worked for points. You couldn’t see where another option lay. 

When you saw his eyes start to wander, lingering first on your lips before following the line of your neck towards your chest, your t-shirt clinging to your form with sweat, you began to understand.

“A woman like you, you shouldn’t be working yourself to death with the rest of these losers. You should be taken care of,” he said with a charmingly, almost boyish grin. “And I can take damn good care of you. My wives don’t lift a fucking finger around here.”

“Your wives?” you blurted out incredulously, but he wasn’t angered by your interruption. Instead he leaned back and laughed heartily. He tilted his head, his tongue coming out to trace his lips as he watched you with amusement. 

“What can I say, sweetheart?” he shook his head with a roguish smile. “I love women. Can’t have just one. But I’m a selfish son a bitch, and I don’t share. My wives are treated like queens. And in return, I expect their loyalty.”

“And for the them to fuck you,” you exclaimed, in something of a shock at the turn of events. Michonne hadn’t exactly prepared you for this kind of encounter.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” he smirked, inordinately pleased hearing you curse. “Trust me, sweetheart. There have been no complaints.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, or to his frankly absurd proposition. You reluctantly admitted to yourself that Negan was attractive, there was no denying that. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. But that didn’t change the facts, and they were too daunting to ignore. 

He had killed Glenn and Abraham. He took delight in taunting and torturing Rick. He had turned the people of Alexandria into slaves. God only knew what he was doing to Daryl. So no matter how tempting he thought his offer was, for you the answer was simple.

“I should get to work,” you said bluntly, looking him right in the eye and forcing yourself not to flinch as he studied you.

“Suit yourself,” he grunted. Leaning in close, daring you to look away, he whispered in your ear. “But when you’ve worked yourself half to death and are praying for sweet relief, I’ll be here.” 

Unable to meet his stare any longer, you broke your gaze and looked away to the bustle of people in the distance. You felt him smile, and he took a step back. 

“You better get moving, doll,” he suggested, the humor fading from his voice. “You don’t work, you don’t eat. And starvation is pretty fucking painful.” 

You gave a quick nod and made to rejoin your new group, practically running from Negan’s side. You could feel his eyes trailing you as you went.

Following Joey’s loud voice, you mixed back into the pack. A few people glanced your way, watching you cautiously, but when nothing else happened they returned their focus to the slovenly man leading the way.

Despite the afternoon’s unexpected events, your mission remained. Michonne’s instructions replayed in your head. Stay calm, stay vigilant. But you weren’t calm. She had told you to blend in, and you had already failed miserably at that.

You were beginning to wonder if leaving Rick out of the plan had been a bad idea. He would have talked you out of it. He would have told you there’s no sense in playing martyr. 

And god help you, he would have been right.


	3. Chapter Three

Three:

 

Four days into your stay at the Sanctuary had left you exhausted. Negan ran a tight ship that was organized meticulously. From what you could tell, the only people who moved freely about were Negan himself and his so-called wives. Everyone else had a job to do, a place to be, and little free time to deviate from their schedules.

Waking up in the morning was difficult. Working all day on the cleaning crew was tiring and you found yourself collapsing onto your bed after dinner, fatigued. You preferred going on runs with Rick and Sasha to the endless amounts of toiling you did at the factory. 

There were times you would catch Negan watching you. He wasn’t subtle with his stares. He had promised you miserable work, and he was a man of his word. You wondered if he was waiting to see you break. Curious when that moment would hit and you could take it no more. 

He seemed to have all the confidence in the world that you would come crawling to him, begging him to spare you from this life.

Negan was going to be sorely disappointed. 

If there was one thing you learned from the apocalypse, it’s that life sucked and was comprised of indeterminate bouts of misery. You were used to it. There would be no begging from you.

Day five was off to its usual start. Thankfully you weren’t on latrine duty, instead you were sent outside to the perimeter to help unload some concrete blocks the saviors had hauled back to the Sanctuary after their latest run. They would be used to help fortify the wall. 

The blocks were heavy and the work hard, but you were grateful for the opportunity it gave you to observe the saviors. 

Their numbers were large, which hardly came as a surprise. But adding their numbers to those in who knew how many outposts Negan had, and they were beginning to look nigh unstoppable. 

Alexandrians, you were all fighters. Rick and Michonne had taught you that sometimes you had to fight back, no matter what the odds. But these odds were beginning to look insurmountable, and even Rick had given in to Negan and his ever-threatening Lucille. 

With that dire admission, you took a step back from the truck to catch your breath. Your boss wasn’t pleased that you stopped, but offered a gruff “One minute,” to get yourself together.

Your eyes wandered the compound, drawn to the walkers strung up by the walls. You never understood why Negan kept them around. You’d overheard someone mention some crap about a training ground, but you didn’t believe it. It had to for punishment, or maybe even a threat, reminding the people of the Sanctuary of the dangers outside these walls. 

But walkers were dangerous, and you thought Negan a fool for keeping them so close.

There were a handful of men moving about in the pen, exciting the walkers. The men just ignored their hungry growls. One man, wearing a dirty sweat suit with his hair in a stringy mess covering his face, was given a hard shove by a savior and had to scramble to catch himself before he fell right into the hands of a grasping walker.

He shook his head, getting his bearings back, and you felt your heart drop into your stomach at the sight of his face.

Daryl.

God he looked terrible. His face was growing gaunt, and the borrowed clothes he wore hung off him. You took an unconscious step toward him, but a tight grip on your arm startled you. Your boss jerked you back toward the work line angrily.

“Wake the fuck up,” he snarled. “Breaks over. Get to back to work,” he ordered, giving you a hard shove.

His irate shout had caught Daryl’s attention and you met his gaze as you bent down to pick up another cinderblock. 

You had never seen Daryl in a panic before. Devastation, heartbreak, pain, those were emotions you had seen him wear on too many occasions. He tried to hide it, to be Rick’s strong and inimitable right-hand man. But there were times when he broke. 

It pained you to see the fear in his eyes when he spotted you. It was so rare to see Daryl afraid, and knowing it was fear for you clouding his expression that once again had you second-guessing this crazy plan. 

The moment was broken when Dwight gave him a hard elbow to his ribs, and Daryl’s eyes fell at the jolt. You shook yourself from your stupor and continued lifting blocks as you internally tried to calm yourself. 

Daryl was alive. At the very least, that was the one bit of good news you’d discovered so far. He wasn’t in good shape, but it didn’t looking like nothing a few good meals and rest couldn’t cure. You hoped, at any rate.

Even if you couldn’t bring Michonne good news regarding the saviors when you returned home, maybe you could bring Daryl. 

You tried to lose yourself in your work. It was monotonous and tough, but you were tougher. It became routine: slide the cinderblock from the truck bed, heft it over to the guys at the wall, bend down and drop the block onto the pile, and repeat.

You didn’t even hear the whistling, you just kept on with the job. Slide, heft, and bend.

“Damn, that is an amazing fucking view!” 

That you heard. Still bent over, your mouth pursed in indignation, you sighed and straightened. 

“Negan,” your boss greeted his leader eagerly, “what brings you out here?”

“Was I talking to you, Pete?” Negan wondered out loud, cocking his head to the side exaggeratedly. “I thought I was talking to the lady with the fine ass, but maybe I didn’t make myself clear. Do I need reason to walking around my Sanctuary?”

“N-No, sir,” he stammered, and you fought to hide a smirk. Pete was a dick, it was kind of fun seeing him nearly piss himself.

“Didn’t think so,” Negan winked, before swinging Lucille jauntily and looking to you. “Let’s take a walk, hot stuff.”

Licking your lips nervously, you stepped out of line. Your eyes darted back to the pen Daryl was locked in, but it was Dwight’s steely gaze that found you. You turned away from his glare swiftly, reluctantly joining Negan and meeting his lazy gait.

“So tell me, doll,” Negan grinned, nudging you slightly in the shoulder, “what do you think? Nice place, isn’t it.”

“It’s…gray,” you replied evasively. “But it’s secure, I guess.” You tucked your hands into your pants pockets, unsure what to do with them. 

“And ain’t that what matters,” he smiled, all teeth and bravado. “A place could be pretty as a fucking picture, but if it ain’t secure then it ain’t shit.”

“Then why keep walkers in your walls?” you questioned, glancing up at him. 

“’Cause walkers aren’t the problem, darlin’,” he smirked, slowing to a stop and swinging Lucille over his shoulder. “They’re easy pickings. It’s people you’ve got to keep out.”

“Seems to me your saviors are the ones busting down doors,” you sneered, crossing your arms over your chest. Negan didn’t look angry at the accusation, he simply chuckled darkly.

“It’s them or us, doll,” he took a step forward, ignoring your personal space entirely as he hovered ominously over you. “And I play for the winning team. It’s a new world. Civility flew out the fucking window when the dead started to rise. You play nice, and you end up letting people walk all over you.”

“So you’re doing the walking,” you retorted, but he just quirked a half smile.

“Damn right I am,” his voice deep and teasing. “I live by simple rules. What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is mine. Anyone doesn’t like it, they can step up and call me out. They won’t win though. Lucille is a nasty bitch when she wants to be. They’ll end up with their heads bashed in, but hey—at least they’ll go out like fucking men. I can respect that.”

“And your respect makes all the difference in the world?” you scoffed.

“It can,” he smiled. This time it was a languid, slow grin, the tip of his tongue touching his teeth as he looked you over unhurriedly. “I mean look at you, doll. You’ve been here almost a week now. Slaving away, cleaning up shit and not saying a fucking word like a good little soldier. You made your decision and you’re sticking to it. It was stupid as shit, but I respect it.”

“Thank—you?” you stammered, unsure what to think about that. He let out a bark of laughter and you felt a little bit of tension leave you. Negan always left you feeling completely out of sorts. He could be charming, in an admittedly crude way. But he could pivot on a dime, raining hellfire down on anyone unlucky enough to catch his ire. Even the most innocuous conversations kept you on the edge of fear with him.

The tension that left your shoulders quickly returned when you felt gloved fingers trace the line of your jaw, Negan looking down on you with a gleam in his eye.

“When you get tired of playing martyr, just say the word,” he entreated, his lips lingering over yours temptingly. “You won’t have to lift a damn finger around here.”

“Just my skirt,” you frowned, pulling away from him and taking a deep breath.

Negan grinned, “Ain’t that the truth,” he sniggered. “You’re feisty, I like it!” he crowed. “Working for points is a bitch. I’d hate to see it break you.”

“Don’t worry,” you said resolutely, “you won’t.”

“Then I guess you better get your ass back in line,” he remarked with a raised brow, glancing behind you to the pile of cement blocks waiting for you. 

You turned on your heel, glancing one last time towards the pen in hopes of catching a glimpse of Daryl, but he was nowhere in sight. 

Before you could take a step, Negan moved behind you and you could feel his hot breath in your ear. “Remember, doll,” the timber of his voice low and inviting, “you ever need a soft bed or a hard dick, I’m your man.”

You couldn’t contain your shiver, whether it was disgust at his words or shame at the reaction they provoked in you, and Negan’s mouth curled into a pleased grin.

Throwing yourself back into your work, you ignored Negan’s heated stare at your back. By the end of the day, you had emptied all the trucks and helped reinforce most of the wall. Pete was pleased as punch by your performance.

You didn’t react to his miniscule praise. Your head still swam with thoughts of Daryl’s haunted eyes…and the tantalizing feeling of Negan’s fingertips tracing your skin.

You were in way over your head.


	4. Chapter Four

Four:

 

Living at the Sanctuary meant dealing with monotonous days that felt like an eternity. Wake up early in the morning; find out your assignment for the day (which usually included strenuous manual labor, Negan didn’t want you feeling too comfortable after all), short breaks for food, and finally passing out from exhaustion at the end of the day.

You missed the more laid back environment of Alexandria. Everyone had their parts to play, Rick made sure to give everyone fair assignments, but you were also allowed time to relax and appreciate living a somewhat normal life again. There was nothing normal about the Sanctuary. It was a safe haven from walkers, but inside it’s walls it was practically a prison. And Negan was an unforgiving warden.

You were becoming adept at the art of avoiding Negan. The man was absolutely everywhere. You cherished the days when he left to go on runs with his boys. The atmosphere was less tense, and you were able to move more freely around the compound.

Today was not one of those lucky days. You could see Negan observing his people from his perch on the second floor of the factory. Your assignment for the morning had been to mop the factory floor. Normally that would take place in the evening when most people had gone to bed, but there had been an incident earlier that left the concrete stained with blood. As it was, people gave you a wide berth.

Negan’s gaze rarely left you. You kept your head down, unwilling to meet his stare, but could feel his eyes on you. You found your body hunching in on it’s self slightly, back stiff and shoulders curved. 

The moment you felt his eyes leave you, you dared a glance in his direction. A woman had joined him, speaking to him quietly. Tall and lean, she was lovely but she appeared closed off and apathetic. Negan was jovial as ever beside her, but she didn’t grant him even the barest of smiles.

She was one of his wives that much was obvious. Her clothing was far too impractical for work, and while your hair was knotted into a messy bun, hers was clean and straight. You hadn’t made much of an effort to learn about Negan’s wives. They would hardly be a concern when the time came to fight. 

Unexpectedly her gaze flicked to you, leaving you feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. Negan followed her stare and you turned away swiftly, but not before you saw the amused tilt of his lips. 

You finished the mopping without further interruption. Negan had gone soon after your little stare down and your body nearly sagged in relief.

When you were done cleaning, you tossed out the water in the mop bucket and headed to the supply closet to return everything. Propping the mop up against the wall and placing the bucket beside it on the floor, you stepped out of the closet and shut the door. 

You turned back toward the yard and were surprised to see the woman from earlier lingering in the alleyway. Offering her an awkward wave hello, you went to pass her.

“You should be careful,” she said, causing you to pause and look at her in confusion. “You’re his newest obsession. Negan,” she clarified, and you swallowed nervously. “I’ve seen him watching you. We all have.”

“His wives?” you questioned, and she smiled grimly.

“His wives, the saviors, everyone,” she admitted. “I’m Sherry,” she introduced herself, but there was no welcoming handshake. “I just thought you should know. That you should be—prepared,” she grimaced. 

“Prepared for what?” you wondered, suddenly on edge.

“Negan always gets what he wants,” Sherry warned ominously. “I—people have tried running, tried denying him…it always ends badly. Bloody.”

“So you’re saying I should just give in?” you asked incredulously. Sherry was one of Negan’s wives. She said yes to him and she looked absolutely miserable. Why would you want to resign yourself to that fate? Besides, you had friends outside these walls. There were people who still cared about you, people willing to fight Negan. You weren’t about to give in to Negan’s demands, Rick was the only leader whose commands you respected. 

“I’m just letting you know what to expect,” she shrugged, looking past your shoulder and into the mass of people in the yard. You followed her gaze, surprised to find it resting on Dwight. His scarred face made him easy to pick out of a crowd. 

“I—We tried to fight him once, to leave. Now my sister’s dead, my husb—Dwight is hurt, and I’m Negan’s wife.” The devastation in her voice shook you in your core and found yourself pitying her and Dwight. “Negan always gets his way. You just have to ask yourself how much pain you want to go through before you accept that.” 

Sherry looked you up and down, her expression blank. “You should get back to work,” she declared dismissively. 

You didn’t bother with a goodbye, and instead turned on your heel and got the hell out of there. 

 

 

Getting Sherry’s voice out of your head had proved complicated.

As you worked, your eyes would dart around the yard for any sign of Negan. But his appearances were thankfully sporadic. You relaxed slightly and allowed yourself to focus on your secondary mission.

Now that you had finally caught a glimpse of Daryl, you kept your eyes peeled for him at all times. Most of the time, your survey of the yard came up empty. Daryl wouldn’t appear for days at a time, and when he did return he looked like a shell of his former self.

Paying careful attention to the movements of the saviors, and Dwight in particular, had led you to an outbuilding on the property. It wasn’t much, and appeared to be used as a barracks for the saviors where they could sleep and relax in between runs. But the saviors weren’t the only ones inside those cement walls. 

You watched Dwight carefully that day, both relieved and horrified when you finally spotted him barking orders at a beaten and bruised Daryl. You tried your best to keep them in your line of sight the rest of the day. 

As the sun began to set, you noticed Dwight dragging Daryl away from the heart of the compound towards the outbuildings. He led Daryl into the barracks as you trailed them from a distance. You stuck to darkened alleys and corners, internally praying that no one would spot you. 

Minutes passed and nothing happened. You began to wonder if there was any point in waiting. Everyone was beginning to head to the cafeteria for dinner, but Dwight still hadn’t left the barracks. 

Moments later, you perked up when the door once again opened. Dwight was now alone, but his face was a mask of utter fury as he marched back toward the yard. Biting your lip anxiously, you started sneaking your way towards the barracks. 

The anger on Dwight’s face made your heart race. If Daryl had provoked him, there was no telling what he might have done in retaliation. And Daryl, while normally stronger than any member of your group, was in a bad way. He couldn’t take much more. 

You crouched uncomfortably near the door, taking a second to listen for any voices. Hearing nothing, you tried the handle and were relieved when it turned easily. 

The hallway was dark and empty and you moved as silently as possible. Peaking around the corner, you froze when you spotted light spilling out of an open door and the murmur of voices. Creeping down the hall, you tried to get a glimpse inside the room. A small group of saviors lingered there, thankfully consumed in a poker game. Reminding yourself not to rush, you made your way fast them cautiously. 

The first cell you noticed was open and unoccupied. A tiny room shrouded in darkness with no bed or even a bucket, you shuddered at the thought of Daryl spending who knows how many hours in a hole like that.

The sound of a woman’s voice caught you off guard. Pressed up against the wall, you glanced into the next hall. The lack of light made it a little difficult to see, but you recognized the form of the woman standing in front of a cracked open cell door, speaking softly to whoever was inside.

Sherry. 

You were debating whether to leave when you heard her whisper Daryl’s name. Apprehensive and uneasy, you knew it was a gamble but a small part of you wanted to trust her. Wife or not, she wasn’t loyal to Negan. And you were willing to bet she wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the barracks, let alone talking to a prisoner.

Hearing the click of a door shutting, you steeled yourself. When she turned the corner, you were ready.

“Sherry,” you murmured, and she held in a shout of surprise. Her body tensed and she stared you down with an intensity you didn’t know she was capable of mustering.

“Did you follow me?” her voice was a hushed snarl.

“No,” you revealed, “I followed Dwight.”

“Why?” she demanded, taking a threatening step forward. You didn’t back down.

“Because I—I needed to know if Daryl is okay.” Sherry hadn’t expected your answer, but she schooled her expression. 

“How do you know Daryl?” she didn’t bother to hide her suspicion. 

“He was a friend before—this,” you sighed. You wanted to remain as vague as possible, but some admissions were necessary. “We got separated. And then I saw him the other day in the yard and I—I just need to see him. Please.”

Sherry was silent for a long while before shaking her head ruefully and turning back towards the cell. “You’ve got one minute,” she said softly as you followed her closely. 

When the cell door opened, you afraid of what you might find. Sherry took a step back to give you a little privacy.

Daryl was curled up on the floor, the sweat suit he wore stained and dirty, hair a greasy mess. His clothes covered his body, but you could tell he lost weight. He didn’t react when the door opened, but after nothing happened, he finally tilted his head back and looked up. One eye was blackened and swollen, but the other widened and he tried to scramble into a sitting position.

Not wanting him to hurt himself, you knelt down and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. You tried to look unaffected by his appearance, but you were holding in tears.

He was struggling to speak, his mouth too swollen and painful to form the proper words. He managed a raspy “What—?” before you stopped him.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, mindful of your audience. “I’m okay,” you assured with a wobbly smile.

Leaning in closer, away from prying eyes, you gave him a light hug. You didn’t want to risk aggravating any wounds. “I’m going to help you,” you spoke softly into his ear. “We have a plan. I just need you to hold on. Please,” you entreated before pulling back. 

Daryl didn’t look reassured by your promises. In fact he looked terrified, shaking his head furiously. 

Sherry stepped into view, looking down on the two of you disquietly. “We need to go,” she said bluntly, and you reluctantly nodded. Taking a step back, you tried to hold in tears as Sherry closed the door amid Daryl’s silent protest.

The two of you made your way out of the barracks through the back. Sherry looked familiar with the layout so you followed her blindly. 

When you were finally outside, the yard and the rest of the compound in sight, you opened your mouth and struggled for words. 

“Don’t thank me,” Sherry interrupted your thoughts with a warning. Her gaze was hard, jaded, as she studied you silently. And then she was gone, leaving you to fend for yourself as she returned to her rooms.

You collected yourself, wiping away any errant tears before making your way back to the yard and toward the cafeteria. You were exhausted, but hungry, and going to bed on any empty stomach was only going to leave you feeling sick. 

The line in the cafeteria was long, but you didn’t pay any attention. Your thoughts were still wrapped up in Daryl. He needed rescue and soon. You needed to find a way to get word back to Rick and Michonne. That was certainly easier said than done. 

Once you gathered your food, you found a spot to sit, keeping to yourself. You shared the table with six other people, but no one greeted you and you remained quiet as you ate. You hadn’t exactly made friends in your time here, but you weren’t really looking for any.

Engrossed in finished off the rest of your mashed potatoes, you paid little mind to the sound of approaching boots and the shadow that now hovered on the table. It was only when the rest of your tablemates went silent that you looked up.

Dwight stood at the head of the table, Daryl’s crossbow resting mockingly in his hands. And his eyes were locked on you.

“Boss wants to see you,” he grinned and it was an awful sight.

Everyone at the table stared at you, you could see the concern in their eyes, but they stayed silent. 

You got up slowly, putting your dishes in the bin as Dwight watched your every move. 

“Get moving, sweetheart,” he grunted, grabbing you by the arm and shoving you in front of him when you didn’t react fast enough. 

Stumbling, you righted yourself and headed for the stairs. You let Dwight lead you the rest of the way, having no clue where you were going. 

Once on the fourth floor, he brought you to a set of double doors and knocked indelicately.

Negan’s voice, a bit muffled but still deep and forbidding, answered, “Come.”

Dwight opened the doors, giving you a rough push inside. Dwight knelt beside you. Negan, not in the mood, simply told him to “Get the fuck out, D.”

Your gaze darted to Negan, his face hard and arms crossed. Lucille rested in the armchair at his back menacingly, and Sherry stared off into the distance at his side.

Dwight moved fast, back onto his feet and closing the doors behind, leaving you alone. You tried to catch Sherry’s eye, but she avoided you. Negan didn’t have a problem staring you down, you could feel the weight of his glare. 

“Sit down, doll,” he ordered, his usual pet name feeling like a taunt. “We need to have a fucking chat.” You hesitated and he snapped. “Sit. The. Fuck. Down. Now,” he growled.

You moved as fast as lightening, propping yourself on the edge of the couch cushion. Negan sauntered confidently toward the couches, running a gentle hand over Lucille as he collapsed onto the seat across from you. His smile was something out of your nightmares.

“Sit on down, wife,” he called to Sherry disdainfully, “this has to do with you too.”

You watched Sherry, who still wouldn’t even look at you, join him on the couch. Her body was stiff and expression vacant. But Negan, his eyes were blazing and his hands curled into fists.

Sherry had said not to thank her, and now you knew why. It had been your own fault. You placed trust in a stranger, and in this world that could get you killed.

And from the look of rage on Negan’s face, you were a dead woman.


	5. Chapter Five

Five: 

 

Negan’s posture was relaxed, but his expression was tight and his eyes were blazing with anger. You didn’t dare move from your seat as Sherry took wary steps toward the couches and took a seat nervously on the edge of the cushions next to Negan.

You would have felt pity for her if you weren’t sure she had just stabbed you in the back.

Then again, she showed you no loyalty, so you had none for her. If you were going down, you’d be damned if you weren’t going to take her with you.

“Here I was trying to enjoy dinner before fucking my wife, and she tells me that you’ve been spending your free time sulking around the prisoner’s cells. Imagine my shock,” he put a hand to his chest dramatically, “finding out you’ve been hiding things from yours truly. I thought we were closer than that,” he taunted with a mocking grin. “You’re so goddamn sanctimonious, I never pegged you for a liar. But I’ve got to give you credit, sweetheart. You’re a fucking great liar.”

“And did your wife tell you why she was also in the cells?” you countered, staring at Sherry as her lips thinned.

“The lady brings up a good point,” Negan drawled, turning his gaze to Sherry as she sat stone-faced. “What the fuck were you doing there, dear wife?”

“I—I saw her go inside and wanted to see what she was up to,” Sherry said as she raised her head and glared at you. “You can’t trust anyone nowadays.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he snickered as he studied her.

“And you can’t trust your wife either,” you interrupted, your heart thudding perilously as Negan’s attention turned to you once more. “She was already inside by the time I got there. She probably spent more time talking to Daryl than I did.” Sherry’s hands clenched into fists in her lap.

“What is it with you women and that fucking redneck?” he snorted.

“I felt sorry for him,” Sherry admitted reluctantly.

“Aren’t you a goddamn saint,” he sneered. Negan’s eyes fell on you again. “What’s your excuse?”

“She said she knew him,” Sherry piped up. You could hardly blame her for her bluntness. You weren’t pulling any punches yourself.

“Well isn’t that a fucking revelation,” Negan declared, leaning forward in his seat and resting his elbows on his knees, hands a steeple under his chin.

“Two ways this goes, darlin’,” his voice was deeper, darker now, “You tell me the truth and nothing but the truth and you might be able to walk away from this. But if you lie, you can join your little buddy Daryl in the cells, where you’ll wish you were dead. Got it?”

You nodded sharply.

“It’s time to come clean,” he ordered, “how do you know that piece of shit?”

“We used to travel together,” you admitted. You weren’t going to lie to Negan, but you hoped you might be able to get away with a little creative storytelling. “We got separated awhile back. I saw him in the yard a few days ago and I just wanted to know if he was okay.”

“Isn’t that sweet,” he smiled disingenuously. “Here’s the good news: I know you’re not lying to me. Want to hear the bad news?” You swallowed, anxious and stomach in knots. “You’re not telling me the truth. Just bits and pieces of your story aren’t going to cut it, honey. So why don’t we play a game of good ole fashioned Twenty Questions, hmm?”

You straightened in your seat and felt your heart drop into your stomach. Evading the truth was simple, it didn’t require any real talent. That’s what you had relied on during your time in the Sanctuary. You didn’t really have to lie if you avoided the subject at all cost. And when you couldn’t avoid, you stuck to the barest detail.

But Negan wanted to know everything, and you had no way of talking yourself out of this mess. Negan was smart, and too observant. He’d spot an outright lie in a second.

It’s not the you were afraid of the cells. Well, you were. Anyone sensible person would be. Especially after seeing what they had done to Daryl already. But you were willing to suffer if that meant no one would get hurt. Then again landing yourself in a cell would get a lot of people hurt. 

Rick and Michonne were relying on you to get a layout of the Sanctuary, to let them know what kind of threat they were truly facing and how to prepare to attack. You had the beginnings of a plan on how to get that information back to Alexandria, but hadn’t had time to enact it yet. You had to find someone trustworthy, someone Negan allowed to leave the compound, someone who could be swayed. But that was easier said than done and you had yet to find that perfect person.

Not that you would get the chance anymore. No matter what he promised, you knew Negan wasn’t about to just let you walk away free and clear.

“Question number one,” Negan sat back, clasping his hands across his stomach, “where did you meet Daryl?”

“Georgia,” you admitted.

Negan smiled grimly. “See? Now we’re making progress. Question two is a little harder. Where’d you two split up?”

“Virginia,” you could see Negan was not amused by your vague answers.

“Specifics, sweetheart,” he sneered. “Tell me…there’s a fucking quaint little town called Alexandria. Full of pretty fucking houses and white picket fences, and run by a guy named Rick the Prick. Heard of it?”

You tried to remain passive as he described your true home and your friend, but the unearthly tension in your body was likely a dead giveaway.

Negan leant forward, with a hand to his ear. “Can’t hear you, honey. You need to speak the fuck up.”

“I—I don’t—,” before you could finish your sentence, Negan turned his glare to Sherry, who remained stiff as a board.

“Get the fuck out,” he demanded, taking her by surprise. Sherry stood on shaky legs, glancing nervously at you and then back to Negan. He grunted and she took a step toward the door. “Don’t go far,” he warned her. “You and I have a lot to talk about, wife.”

She didn’t waste time getting out of there, striding with newfound urgency to the door and shutting it firmly behind her. Negan’s weighted gaze turned back toward you.

“Now I could let you finish your pathetic fucking sentence, but we both know you’d be lying out of your ass,” he dared you to argue. “You know Daryl, you know Rick, and I’d be willing to bet my left nut that you’re from Alexandria. So now you’re going to tell me what your fucking plan was before I lose my goddamn temper.”

“What’s the point?” you mumbled softly. He raised an eyebrow in response, and you couldn’t tell if he was amused or furious. “I mean, you’re just going to throw me in a cell and torment me until I wish I was dead. That is what you said. And if that’s the case, just get on with it. I’m not telling you anything.”

“Well look at the man sized balls on you, lady!” he chortled. “I’ve got to give you credit, talking to me like that—it takes guts. Maybe I’ve gone about this all wrong,” Negan mused.

Standing to his full height, Negan stretched and eyed you in contemplation. With slow, methodical steps he moved behind your chair. You froze as he placed his rough hands on your shoulders.

“Maybe you’re right,” he considered. “I mean, torturing women isn’t my idea of a good time. At least not outside of the bedroom.” You practically heard him smirk. “But I can’t let you get away with defying me. It can’t happen.”

There was a long beat of silence and then you felt him give your shoulders a hard squeeze as he propped his elbows up on the back of your chair and brought his mouth teasingly to your ear. “Wait, I know!” he gasped in faux surprise. “I’m not going to torture you at all. But someone’s got to be punished. So I’ll make you a deal. I’m going to go to Alexandria and bash in someone’s head! Lucille is thirsty, honey.”

Pulling back, Negan sauntered before you, looking far too pleased with himself. “And when one of your little friends is dead, I’ll consider us even. Hell, even if I’m wrong, and I am never wrong, and you aren’t from Alexandria, consider this a lesson in manners. You give me lip and somebody fucking pays.”

You silently cursed yourself as you felt a tear make its way down your cheek. “Please—”

“Please what?” he taunted. “Please don’t? Please stop? I appreciate the begging, darling but it ain’t going to change a thing.”

You couldn’t let anyone die. Not for your pride, and not for your mistake. You had promised Rick and Michonne that you would take care of yourself, but not at the expense of innocent people.

“Please,” you cleared your throat and hating the watery sound of your voice. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. No one has to die.”

“That’s mighty big of you,” he scoffed. “But I’ll decide if anyone’s getting their ticket punched.”

“What do you want?” you shouted in frustration, propelling yourself out of the chair and standing as tall as you could. Even then you were dwarfed by Negan’s body. “I’ll tell you whatever you want! I’ll do what you want! Just leave them alone!”

Negan’s expression was unreadable as he looked down on you. You knew he was probably pissed at your outburst and part of you wanted to shrink away from him. But Negan had told you once before, respect was all that mattered. And he respected when people stood up to him. Even if it did end bloody most of the time.

“You’ll do what I want,” he repeated, his voice dark and low. His eyes pierced through you and you began to wonder if you had chosen your words too hastily.

“I’ll make you a deal then, sweetheart,” Negan’s words taking on a dangerous tone. “And listen good, because this is the only fucking offer I’ll make. You want to save the life of one of those fucking pitiful friends of yours?”

He took deliberate, measured steps toward you until you were craning your neck to maintain eye contact. “Then you sit your ass back down and you tell me everything. I mean your fucking life story if that’s what I want.”

“I’ll do it,” you rushed to agree and he grinned menacingly in return.

“Love the enthusiasm,” he chuckled, “but we’re not done. After you’re done spilling your guts, metaphorically speaking, I’ll even let you go to your room and get a nice night’s sleep. And you’ll need it. Because tomorrow’s a big day.”

“What happens tomorrow?” you asked cautiously.

“It’s your wedding day,” he smiled, and no matter how handsome he was the sight slightly sickened you.

“That’s the deal, honey,” he purred. “You give me all of you…and I do mean all of you, and I’ll let your indiscretion slide.” You were still struggling to take in what he said that the feel of his hand brushing your cheek and his thumb resting at the corner of your mouth didn’t really register.

“So what do you say?” he murmured, sweeping his thumb softly across your bottom lip. “Are you willing to hand yourself over to the big, bad wolf to save a friend?”

You went to wet your lips nervously and instead your tongue met his thumb, giving the digit a little lick. From the pleased grumble you heard escape him, you knew Negan was enjoying your small misstep.

Rick and Michonne would kill you. Daryl would kill you. You were never supposed to make the sacrifice play. But life didn’t follow a script, so you just had to improvise.

“Yes,” you whispered, and you could see Negan’s grin widen.

“Ain’t this a treat,” he laughed softly, pinching your cheek. His hand skimmed your arm before taking you by the elbow and leading you to the couch.

“Take a seat, darling,” he gestured toward the sofa and you found yourself numbly falling into the cushions. Negan followed at a more leisurely pace, throwing an arm over your shoulder and bringing you close. He was pleased as punch, while you couldn’t seem to calm your racing heart.

“Let’s get all this nasty talking business out of the way,” he sighed delightedly. “So we can get to the fun nasty business tomorrow.”


End file.
